


Our Days Are Numbered Here

by wolfbeater



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, BAMF!Stiles, Cliché Plot Twist, Established Relationship, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:24:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfbeater/pseuds/wolfbeater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles knew his days with Derek were numbered. They always had been. The reminders were everywhere. They were in the wind, whistling through the moor grass in the heathland no one dared venture across. They were in the brightly coloured berries, hanging from the trees like a noose. They were in the screams and cries of fallen tributes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Days Are Numbered Here

**Author's Note:**

> I wouldn't say this is a strict Hunger Games AU, since the tributes know each other well.
> 
> Title is a line from Wooden Bone by Pilot Speed.

Stiles knew his days with Derek were numbered. They always had been. The reminders were everywhere. They were in the wind, whistling through the moor grass in the heathland no one dared venture across. They were in the brightly coloured berries, hanging from the trees like a noose. They were in the screams and cries of fallen tributes.

The pair rested up in a tree, on a branch that curved perfectly and supported them both. Night had fallen over the arena, bringing with it the flashing faces of friends. Another reminder. There were only five of them left now. Most tributes would be glad but Stiles could only feel dread.

“Who’s killing who?” Stiles asked finally, head upon Derek’s chest. It was a conversation they had been avoiding.

Muscles tensed, then, “you kill me.”

Of course Derek would say that.

“We could, you know, do it together,” Stiles murmured mindlessly. Except he wasn’t kidding.

Derek jerked into a sitting position. His face held a certain amount of confusion and alarm.

“I can’t go back out there alone,” Stiles whispered, “I wouldn’t last. At least this way we could be together when it happens.”

Derek’s grip on Stiles tightened. He was biting his tongue. But he relaxed, because they really didn’t have any other choices.

“When?” Derek asked, “when should we do it? Should we wait until the end?”

Stiles shook his head, “no. I think we should do it tomorrow. I saw some berries back there. We can do the ol’ bottoms up.” He looked up to Derek’s stern face.

“It’s not funny.”

“I know,” Stiles said, and leaned to Derek’s lips.

The kiss was bittersweet, holding wrecked promises they foolishly kept. Like the trip to New York they’d never take. The potential adopted puppy they’d never see. Stiles had just moved into the loft; he couldn’t even remember unpacking his things.

 

The next day they carefully made their way down the trunk, keeping an eye out for other tributes lurking the woods. The walk was a short one and Stiles’ feet grew heavier with each step. Instinctively, he reached out for Derek; or maybe it was the other way around. They gave each other the will to continue, but at the same time, took that will away.

The berries were only about twenty feet away when behind them, a twig snapped.

“Did you hear that?” Stiles asked an already rigid Derek.

Derek turned slowly, and a warning call ripped from his throat, “Stiles, down!”

Derek threw him aside, and hard earth tumbled up to meet Stiles’ shoulder. He looked up, bewildered and rattled. And he watched it happen. Watched it in slow motion.

An arrow. Breaking fast through the air. Breaking fast into Derek’s eyes, forcing out blood. Forcing out life. Everything in Stiles’ body shattered. His bones crumbled, his organs shrivelled. The world seemed like it was on mute.

The cannon boomed before Derek’s body hit the ground.

For a moment, Stiles couldn’t breathe. He wheezed out. Wheezed in. Anger burned behind his eyes, and it beat out the terror chaining him to the ground.

He turned and saw her. She took maddening steps towards him; like a zombie’s stumbling gait, only with confidence. Her hair was a wild, tangled mess. And it was stiff, slick with dried blood.

“What the fuck, Allison!” Stiles screamed at her. His voice sounded strange. Raw and mature, with no hint of the shrillness he had expected from himself. “We said we wouldn’t kill each other. We had a pact!”

“He broke that pact the second he killed Scott,” Allison’s voice shook out. It had a crazed waver to it, like she was choking out tears and spitting anger at the same time.

“That was Matt! He’s turned us against each other,” Stiles called out, “he’s got this stupid game wrapped around his finger!”

Allison reached to the pouch of arrows slung over her back, and pulled one out, loading it into the bow. “It doesn’t matter now,” she cracked a smile that had an edge of sadness to it. “Only one of us can win.”

Her fingers twitched and Stiles wasted no time shielding his face. Pain tore up his arm and he let out a cry. He took hold of the arrow, stifling back another agonized sound as he pulled it from his flesh. Stiles looked up, zeroing his rage on Allison, who was already loading up another arrow.

“I’m sorry, Scott,” he whispered under his breath before reaching into the pocket of his pants and gripping the handle of a dagger. He didn’t take a breath before throwing it. Didn’t give her a chance to beat him in this sick race of sorts.

She fell to the ground, dagger between her eyes. The cannon didn’t sound immediately as it did with Derek. Beneath all the anger, he felt a pang of guilt. Eventually, the cannon bellowed. A siren of death.

Stiles dropped to his knees beside Derek’s lifeless body. He took the man’s face in his hands and began to shudder out broken whispers.

“You’re okay. Wake up.”

Except he had heard that cannon. He could clearly see the arrow protruding from his skull.

Stiles pulled the arrow from Derek’s face and quickly turned his head to the side. The eye isn’t a window to the soul. It’s the window to blood and gore. That wasn’t how Stiles wanted to remember him. But the image burned itself into his mind.

Derek was still warm, and even with the gaping wound where his eye had been, Stiles continued to plead with him to wake up. Denial eventually gave way, and his body shook with ragged sobs. He reached up to wipe his face, streaking it with the blood that had pooled over his hand.

Another minute and they could have done it their way. Together, peacefully.

 

Stiles stalked through the woods like a madman, taking wobbling steps just as Allison had. He was a mess. Feral in every way. Blood caked beneath his fingernails. It stained his face. A physical manifestation of the spite running in his veins.

Three left.

A scream shot through the sky, pulling Stiles’ from his madness momentarily, before plunging him back into it. He started off towards the sound, leaping over unearthed roots and fallen branches. Something rabid took over his soul, driving him forward. And he didn’t stop, even when he tripped and twisted his ankle at a painful angle.

When he reached the clearing, he could see the undeniable silhouette of Matt over the body of what had to be Danny. Danny was still alive; no cannon had gone off.

Stiles tore towards them. His feet weren’t nimble by any means, steps hammering into the ground with hatred. But either he managed his agility well, or Danny’s cries drowned out most sounds, because he tackled Matt away.

“Fuck you!” Stiles spat in his face, ramming Matt hard into the ground. He sat atop him, holding him down.

Matt only smiled. The wind must have been knocked out of the boy, but he still managed a sick, twisted grin. He had no weapon in his grasp; the fight with Danny had been hand-to-hand combat. “I was wondering which tributes those cannons belonged to. Guess I have my answer,” he laughed out in a struggling breath.

“I’m going to kill you,” Stiles hissed. Matt’s grin widened, taunting him silently. “I should kill you like Derek would, if it had been me. Wanna know what he’d do? He’d take you to that lake over there, and he’d dunk you in. He’d hold you there and he wouldn’t let you up.” Fear flashed into Matt’s eyes, ridding them of the passive aggressiveness they had held onto so strongly. “Yeah. Don’t like that one do you? You’re lucky I’m not Derek.”

Stiles didn’t hold anger close to his heart. Not like Derek had. But he could, if he wanted. He understood now, the raw power that came with cradling hate in his arms. He could still drag Matt to the water’s edge.

But he didn’t. He reached for Matt’s head quickly. Cracking it to the side.

The cannon boomed right at the snap.

Stiles rose to his feet, staggering back. He turned to Danny, who was bloodied and dazed from Matt’s attack. Danny forced himself up and nearly fell back. But he managed to keep his footing.

“No hard feelings,” Danny said miserably as Stiles pulled the dagger from his pocket.

“What?”

“You’re going to kill me. I understand,” Danny shrugged. He didn’t have anything to defend himself with. He looked close to death already. He was giving up.

Stiles shook his head, “no I’m not.”

“You’re in much better shape than I am,” Danny chuckled. Or tried. He ended up coughing up blood.

“I can’t go out there. And I can’t do it myself,” Stiles handed the knife to Danny, “it didn’t seem so scary, when I wasn’t dying alone.”

Danny took the blade, staring down at in in disbelief. He gave Stiles a look; a quite apology with a hint of glum appreciation. Then he raised his arm back and-

 

Stiles woke up with a start to The Arcade Fire and white words on a black screen. Ending credits. Fear coursed through him and he took a moment to realize he was in Derek’s loft. An arm was draped lazily over his side, and soft snores sounded by his ear. Stiles nearly gave himself whiplash rolling over. He studied Derek’s face, soft with sleep. And ultimately, unharmed.

“Shit,” Derek breathed out, woken by Stiles’ movement, “did I push you off the couch again? Your heart is beating fast.”

“Huh?” Stiles croaked out, not having quite come down from the dream. “Oh. Yeah. It’s okay.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” Derek nuzzled into his neck, dragging his stubble across Stiles’ skin. It tickled, but it was definitely welcome. “Here,” he rolled over on his back and pulled Stiles with him. “Now you won’t fall off.”

“And you get a blanket,” Stiles smiled weakly, comforted by reality.

“A boney blanket,” Derek grunted and shifted uncomfortably, “your elbow is digging into my ribs.”

“Comes with the territory of asking me to move in,” Stiles teased. He reached down, feeling blindly for the remote. Then he shut off the television and after a few minutes of rational thinking, settled back into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> That was a dirty, rotten trick. And I am so sorry.
> 
> The ending was totally inspired by having show/movie-related dreams.  
> It was also the only way I could manage character death I think.


End file.
